Touches of Glass
by AnnaRavenheart
Summary: Ryou had a good reason to be afraid of his touches as they were as sharp as the glass. They made him bleed one too many times and the bleeding wasn't going to stop, not until he existed.


_**Touches of Glass**_

**Rating:** M

**Type:** Multichapter

**Pairing:** Bakura Ryou/Yami no Bakura

**Summary:** Ryou had a good reason to be afraid of his touches as they were as sharp as the glass. They made him bleed one too many times and the bleeding wasn't going to stop, not until he existed.

**Warning:** Angsty, contains Yaoi and graphic sex.

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who will spare some time to read this. Reviews and comments are appreciated.

* * *

**Never Free**

There was a scarcely audible creak in the middle of the night, scarcely audible for anyone to hear, but loud enough to disturb Ryou's dreams. He opened his eyes slowly, fighting with his eyelashes as they refused to rise. His chocolate eyes darted upon the window which was slightly ajar. The soft breeze caressed the curtains, making them sway. A stray ray of moonlight pried into the room, its long pale hand illuminating the patch of darkness. His eyes followed the trace, leading to the corner of the room.

His heart skipped a beat – he was there, and he was waiting even if he shouldn't. Bakura, not longer an ancient spirit of pearly mist, but a man of flesh and blood. Very much real and very much alive like he had wanted him to be… _once._

People he knew often spoke about hell and the devils, portraying them black and red. It didn't take him a lot of time to realize that they were wrong. Hell wasn't red – it was golden, a realm of sunbathed sand, an endless desert whose scorching air wrapped its hands around him, making his skin burn in response. The devil wasn't black – he was white, alabaster white. So much pristine white that even the snow seemed dirty and dark in comparison.

He found himself drowning in this, this chilling incandescence, until he heard the word, just one word spoken in that arrogant, cold voice.

"Yadonushi."

Bakura unfolded his hands in a careless gesture, and Ryou felt so stupid, stupidly scared – and at the same time engrossed – by the act.

He was dreaming, wasn't he? Not willing to rely on this possibility, he sneaked his hand underneath his pillow, his clammy skin wrapping around the cold hilt of a knife. He never slept without it, not since he had met the demon. Zorc – the worst demon – was dead, but it was of no importance, he was never the one Ryou was afraid of.

Ryou stood up, his trembling hand clenching the knife. It was the only thing able to give him a tiny dosage of security. Bakura observed him, unbothered by the petty weapon, relaxed as ever. Ryou stared at the ivory skin of his long neck, his eyes followed the line of it until it disappeared beneath the wrinkled, oversized collar, joining with the line of his lithe shoulders. Everything was the same as it had been ten years ago when he emerged from the ring, the embodiment of everything evil and everything beautiful. Just this time, Ryou wasn't a child anymore – Bakura had taken care of that.

Under the eerie light of the moon, Bakura's dark eyes have taken an oddly reddish hue, swarmed with the memories of the centuries, contained by the darkness of bestiality. Unmoving and unreadable.

Ryou couldn't breath, he was so afraid. This was so unlike fighting behind the Pharaoh. This time he was _alone._

But for some reason he didn't want to think about the Pharaoh despite he was the only one who understood what it was like to be haunted by this demon.

His pale skin was almost translucent, and with a sting of self-loathing he admitted that even after all this time, Bakura was the most handsome boy he had ever seen. So much like him, but so much different. It didn't make him less afraid, it just made things worse.

"Ryou," he breathed, the sound of his voice clashed against the walls, ringing over and over again. _Ryou, Ryou, Ryou…_

He smiled that icy smile, the demonic shadow on that angelic face. "You thought you got rid of me."

Ryou shook his head weakly. No, never. He wasn't stupid enough to think so.

"I survived, yadonushi. Survived because of you. Survived because I poured my soul into you," he stated, his eyes glinting maliciously.

Ryou's hand which held the dagger was shaking feverishly – he doubted it would be of any use anymore.

"Poor Ryou."

His name sounded so wrong, utterly wrong when pronounced in that malevolently caressing tone.

"He defeated you… the Pharaoh," Ryou muttered, his hoarse voice strange and unfamiliar to his ears.

"Is that your attempt to provoke me?" the demon asked softly, without any interest.

The dismissive tone caused Ryou's blood to rush to his cheeks, dyeing them scarlet.

Bakura moved towards him with a sensual, panther-like grace. Ryou was so enraptured by his movements that he didn't realize what he intended to do, not until a cold, long hand pulled the knife away from his trembling fingers.

"I think this is needless," he stated, his eyes traveling over Ryou as he relished in his discomfort.

Ryou swallowed the bile, which formed inside his mouth, suddenly left so vulnerable.

"Scared?"

"No," Ryou lied in a voice which singular innocence annihilated the meaning of his word.

Bakura laughed that hard, mirthless laugh, the one which made Ryou's skin crawl. "Show me some of your courage then."

What? Ryou was unable to do it. No one was able. The Pharaoh was the only one who was able to stand against Bakura with a chance to win. On the other side, Ryou was the only one able to stand against Bakura with a _wish to lose._

"You haven't changed, not at all," Bakura stated unceremoniously, tapping the knife against Ryou's cheek as he observed him thoughtfully.

"You're wrong. I'm not a fool you can toy with anymore, Bakura," Ryou said, his voice trembling with hatred as the anger and fear clashed against one another inside his head like a chaos.

Bakura's thin mouth pulled into a smile, the soulless smile-unsmile. "You don't understand what I want, do you?" Bakura drew closer to Ryou with the air of predatory resolution around his slender frame. A red light flared in those dark eyes and Ryou suddenly wanted to scream. He wanted to, but no sound left his mouth.

He needed to move away, he _needed to,_ but he was frozen like a terrified doe carved in ice. The fear wracked his body and bones, freezing his movements and mind.

Bakura observed him calmly, a faint trace of a fiendish amusement playing behind the darkness of his eyes. "Running away?" Bakura smirked as Ryou stumbled backwards.

Ryou halted, his fair fingers curling into fists as he swallowed, trying to swallow his fear along with the bile. It had struck him, struck him all – the honey-glazed words, the poisonous intent, the tarnished hopes and shattered heart.

He wasn't going to beg for mercy as Bakura owned none. He wasn't going to run as there was no Pharaoh that would fight instead of him.

"You can't harm me, you're an illusion," Ryou said, embedding the resolution in his voice. The one he didn't feel.

"You think so?" Bakura asked, arching his eyebrows as he moved closer to Ryou. He wasn't close enough to touch him, but Ryou's skin began to tingle, the sound of his own breath torturing to his ears.

Ryou wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to make sure that he really was an illusion but he didn't dare to. He wondered if Bakura ever appreciated touches or anything remotely close to gentleness as he didn't belong to this world – he belonged to the world of clammy darkness and entwined shadows.

Ryou belonged to the world of light, affectionate words and smiling faces. Didn't he? Or his place was with Bakura, among the tarnished memories and the darkness which waited to seize him.

That lingering darkness which was now here, just a couple of inches away from his touch.

The demon's face was somehow closer to his now and Ryou was able to distinguish himself mirrored behind those eyes. The white hair fell over his forehead in messy bangs as he leaned over Ryou, his eyes glinting, always glinting. If he would move just a tiny bit _closer…_

Ryou jolted violently as Bakura used the knife to trace the line of his soft cheekbone – the movement sensual and emotionless. "I'm as real as you are," he said softly and Ryou could taste the truth in his words – bittersweet and as offensive as a lie. Sickness twisted his intestines, combined with a chilly sensation which slowly began creeping through his veins. Perhaps it was the demon's presence, running through his veins like stained shadows.

He was never going to be _free_ again.


End file.
